The Memories, Red and Resurrected - One shot
by baroquefire
Summary: Dracula rises but only the evil lost residue of his soul. After making a pact with a gypsy demon, he manifests in England in order to exact revenge and find lost love and a lost heir.


**AN: Ah, a one shot. Such a beautiful thing. In this Dracula one shot it explores the idea of Dracula's demented soul residue coming back to exact revenge and redeem what is rightfully his. I.e a certain leading lady and perhaps an heir. This story is based on the Francis Ford Coppola movie but that follows so close to the book that it's not even that noticeable. It uses background and canon from the movie and the novel. There are a few exceptions regarding what happened to the characters at the end of the novel and movie but it simply makes the story read better.**

 **Without further a do, here it is. Enjoy**

* * *

The wind snapped and whipped its gnarly teeth through the mountains. It moaned, and so did the wolves of the forest and the Count's three wives. The chorus shattered around the trees, they pined for their master. He was not there, at least they couldn't see him. They could sense him and they could hear him but he was damned and they wailed for Dracula. Although the Count had his human soul saved, the remnants, the evil, had been left on Earth.

His spirit ebbed through the valley floor, weaving around the pillars of his castle. Men had come and ransacked his glorious dwelling upon hearing of his death; now some years later the jewel nested in the mountains was in a patient slumber.

As the moon rose steadily above the tree line Dracula's spirit caught cries of pain. They were emanating from England, from his Mina. He roared a ferocious roar and shot through the woodlands. He twisted and struggled until he came face to face with the caravan in the clearing.

The old gypsy knew Count Dracula would come; she knew his spirit would. They had a long standing accord, years had passed and the Count had refused to seek her help. Now it was impending. Her milky eyes rattled as her blindness looked at his spirit. He was angry, a fixed grimace that was only a semblance of his former beauty. She furrowed her grey eyebrows and put up a hand to centre herself against his overwhelming frustration.

"You don't want this. You need this." She whispered in Hungarian, her words were laced with venom and slight amusement.

"You want to bargain the residue of your soul in return for pure and unbridled immortality." The Count's eyes boiled over with animosity at the woman.

"Are there any other consequences I should be aware of?"

"Yes. If I ever so much as beckon you, call your name; you will serve me. You will do what I wish."

"Regrettably… Understood and agreed."

Her gin smile cracked and she began to, with a furious cadence take his soul. The count would soon bring his plans to fruition and lead a symphony of revenge against the Vampire Hunters and their leader, Van Helsing; claiming Mina in the process.

* * *

Mina Harker lay breathing heavily on her bed, a nurse dabbed a warm towel on her head and hushed calming noises. Her son's voice echoed from down the hall and Mina involuntarily reached out for him. The spring had broken her fever and Mina found herself recalling back to the bizarre adventure that had happened 17 years earlier; the loss of her best friend and shortly after, her pregnancy.

The birth had been excruciating like most of the time and Jonathon had been attendant yet apprehensive upon making eye contact with their new born. Now almost of age Quincey- named after a friend lost under the enigmatic circumstances- looked mostly like Mina but his eyes held a glimmer and haze that seemed unearthly, he excelled where his Father failed and had a charisma that was boyish and in a paradox; wise beyond what he had known.

The window flew open and a draft cooled the room. The nurse ran to shut the pane, as she reached it Mina shot out an arm and in a relieved voice she whimpered,

"Please, don't! It's refreshing. The evening is perfect." The nurse seemed apprehensive but when she saw Mina plead she couldn't shut it.

The week passed in a dream, Mina's head began to clear and she took to strolling along the cliff in the evening. Jonathan accompanied her on the Friday night and as they took leisure walking through the flowers and tall grass, everything was tranquil until a crack of lightning hit the sky.

"Jonathon! I can't-", horrible memories swept up with the storm. A shipwreck, boxes of dirt, a wolf. Mina buried herself in Jonathon's shoulder and wept. He patted her shoulder with a loving embrace, stifling his own trepidation.

"It's alright, love." He said with a tender brush of her hair, "I'm here."

* * *

Clenching his fists with power, the Count manifested himself in a cloak of green smoke. The wind encouraged him up the cliff and over the precipice. He ebbed towards Quincey's balcony and in a graceful twist materialised, touching his black boots down onto the stone. It had begun to rain in small sheets, breaking lightly overhead. Dracula's eyes looked down the line of his nose and saw Mina, cradled by Jonathon and hurrying into a small shelter from the storm. His clenched fist turned from power to rage but as soon as the mood had come his composure had drawn back together.

Quincey was not asleep, he had always been a night owl. Staying awake to read, sketch or think and tonight would be no different. He was doing some fine turning on a charcoal piece, two eyes piercing from a face that he had tried to capture all his life; with only his dreams as a reference.

The wind rapped on his balcony door causing Quincey to focus more on his precise smudging and flourishes. He heard a slow click of the latch and the creep of the wood shave along the floor.

"What on Ear-"

Quincey turned his head, trailing off his words and saw for the first time the eyes that had haunted him. The wind blew in along with Dracula's tall figure, he walked through the frame and with a sharp movement he swept the latch back together.

"Don't move."The count said in his neglected English.

"Who are you, sir? If you climbed up the stone, I'd wager your reasons are either for dramatic effect or because you didn't want anyone but myself to see you. Seeing as my name is not Juliet, I'm assuming it's the latter." Quincey smirked, he was wise to adult games and despised cloak and dagger. "So What do you require?"

Dracula matched his grin, exposing the tips of his teeth.

"You're not what I expected." The count snickered, flicking his salient and leather dressed fingers through a pile of Quincey's art. "I've come for you, as I suspected and have now affirmed you are indeed not who you think you are," a pause, "… Son." Quincey's eye's flashed with suspicion,

"What are you suggesting?"

"You feel as if you know me, don't you? Everyone secretly wonders where you got your acute mind appearance from and so do you." Quincey said nothing, not denying the suggestion.

"I know who you are." He stated, turning his back on him. He leant down and fingered a draw open, he drew out a small letter and offered it to the Count.

"You are a shade of me at your age, several in fact." Dracula remarked with a sardonic raise of his eyebrow, accepting the paper from Quincey.

"I apologise, I cannot read… shorthand. All I recognise is your _mother's name, my name_ …" Dracula paused and frowned,

"…and Van Helsing's. Who is… apparently the leader of a very proud League of Vampire Hunters now." Dracula spat the last words.

"I know about the secret controversy over my birth, my mother tried to hide it but only managed to keep it from my father." Quincey recounted. Dracula nodded and held out a vile in his palm.

"What is that!? Is that blood?" Quincy recoiled at the sight of the blood leaving its mark on the glass.

"Drink it. Join me son." The boy feigned desire and his instinct, which Van Helsing had described as possible replication of Dracula's dark pursuits. The rope was slipping and the human part of Quincey was grappling at it.

* * *

The storm raged and Mina felt faint, a piece of her yelled out and she traced the feeling back to those uncertain days when the father of her son had swept through her life like an intoxicating plague. Jonathon sat and continued to comfort her but Mina was in a state of unknown. She was being drawn back to the house and that small yet growing part of her knew why. He was here. In a ghost's trance Mina got up. Her complexion flushed and her eyes unfocused.

"Jonathon, my love, please, I'm in need of a fresh face of water; go and eat supper in the courtyard. I will be down soon." Mina began her way up the hill, she didn't flinch as the rain spat at her face; letting the blossom of Dracula's influence take her mind. Jonathon got up but as soon as he stood, he fell; green smoke swelling around his body. She turned around as she reached the stairs of their perfectly victorian home, and smiled with a simper.

Dracula's head tilted back with a wide smile as he watched his son drink.  
"Vlad, my son, you are my heir and you will deliver my wrath; will you not?." He chanced in his long forgotten and ancient tongue.

"Of course." Quincey's response in the archaic language spread a devious smile on his father's face, he was a tad shocked at what had come out of his mouth but it was soon swallowed and pushed underneath the growing layers of darkness. Quincey took a breath as he cut open his arm and drew out his own blood. Dracula stepped forward and sank his teeth into the arm. He was soon standing in his aristocratic pose again and wiped the blood from his mouth. He looked at his son,

"Your name is not Quincey, you will now be known as Vladimir the Scion of Darkness, son of Vlad III the Prince of Wallachia and King of Darkness." He stated with delight in the old language.

"Has a nice ring to it doesn't it?" He said with a faint glee, switching to English.

"Indeed, it does. I knew this day would come." Vladimir's voice was beginning to take on a more mature tone, his eyes going from rich chocolate to a dark rusty brown. His teeth began to protrude and he smiled, rejoicing in the power that gushed through his veins in a Tsunami. His throat began to close and the sensation of loosing air was upon him. He pushed open the balcony door and propped himself on the bricks. He smiled, that was his last mortal breath.

The room shifted and froze as the bedroom door flew open and revealed Mina, her eyes as dark as Dracula's beloved forest and her skin as pure as the snow that fell on his mountains. If Dracula had a heart it surely would have exploded out of his chest into a thousand shining and bright pieces like a smashed stain glass window. Leaving Vladimir jumping over the wall and to the ground beneath, reeling in his new found abilities; he moved with rhythm towards Mina. She mirrored his movements and they fell into each other. The long suppressed needs collided against propriety and house wife manners and Dracula took her into his arms with a strong possessive grip.

The three; mother, father and son. Entranced by the Count's fiery and uncontrollable will, the promise of immortality.

Any hesitations Mina had, all left with her husband. Long years of bemusing loneliness at an end, dying with the many portraits lying as the only reminder at his parent's feet. An understanding of what must happen to the London and society that had thrust them apart, starting with the fall of Van Helsing's vampire hunters and the raising of an army. That was when Dracula heard his voice being called from half a continent away.

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for reading this short yet, in my humble opinion small and gratifying story of What if?**

 **...Speaking of What if?**

 **What if you left a review, followed me and faved?**

 **ANSWER: I would be very happy and grateful.**

 **~LFS**


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